There are so many fun things to do in Chicago I’m ashamed to say I don’t take advantage of what the city has to offer nearly often enough. True, winter is typically a time for Midwesterners to cocoon, and truer, Ken was the driver behind most of our excursions. Even in the weeks before he died getting out of the house was always on his mind–even if it was just to sit in the backyard to smell the fresh spring air and look at the life returning after a long winter’s sleep. It’s some of these traits–to experience life–I admired most in him, and try to emulate now. Not only as a tribute to him, but as a way to enhance my world.

I live in a city full of art. And I was reminded of that recently when I went to see a play in Evanston. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a stage production of anything. It was quite good, and the 2 plus hours flew by long before “dead end” was able to set in. I was sitting  in the darkness, spellbound not only by the story playing out in front of me, but in the fact I was sitting there observing it at all. I decided to coax myself out of my tender fortress from time to time  and indulge in such in the bountiful pleasures my beautiful city has to offer.

I took a step in the right direction by becoming a member of the Art Institute recently. Sadly but truly, I haven’t been there since a work function in the very early 2000s. But I have very fond memories of my aunt and uncle taking me there in teens: once to the Impressionist exhibit (cementing this era as a nostalgic favorite) and another to the Vatican exhibit. It was on those two trips I imagined myself living here.

I took a weekday off without real plans–except for making a trip downtown to one of the city’s cultural gems. And it was a true Chicago experience from beginning to end. It wouldn’t be spring without unpredictable weather. It was blustery and freezing with ice pellets raining from the sky from time to time. It was a harsh walk to the L, but once I was on my way, it became an exciting day full of possibilities. I wore the awestruck grin of a tourist for most of the day.

As I moved around from gallery to gallery, I was as fascinated by the other people shuffling around from piece to piece as I was by the works themselves. Some of them seemed to be devouring the experience with such veracity I envied them. For me, they themselves became the most fascinating subjects to observe. And yet from the outside, I looked just like one of them. I was one of them. It’s a comforting feeling to blend into the crowd sometimes. To not be different or remarkable in any way. To be a part of something larger than myself.

I meandered around the cavernous halls for almost two hours–including a short rest in the Members Lounge to journal, capture my thoughts, and–most importantly–because I could. I took my time extricating myself from the museum. There is no rush, I kept reminding myself. Just a grumbly stomach and a puppy I wanted to retrieve from doggie daycare.

It was a great day. And certainly a better day than Jared must have had (see photo below.)

What will it be this week?